


Temptation

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [33]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s14e10 Nihilism, Finger Sucking, Handcuffs, Hate Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possession, Public Sex, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Spit As Lube
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-10-13 11:10:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17487029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: “You’re too sweet on him,” Michael chides, absolutely lecherous.Chains jangle around his wrists, and Castiel perks up, brow furrowed. All Michael does is leer, tongue between his teeth, unblinking as always. Something—everything—about him sets Castiel on edge, the former life behind Dean’s eyes gone, replaced by a madman, a blasphemer—a devil.





	Temptation

“You’re too sweet on him,” Michael chides, absolutely lecherous.

Chains jangle around his wrists, and Castiel perks up, brow furrowed. All Michael does is leer, tongue between his teeth, unblinking as always. Something—everything—about him sets Castiel on edge, the former life behind Dean’s eyes gone, replaced by a madman, a blasphemer—a devil.

“You know, if you ever told him, he would’ve said the same.” As much as he can, Michael sits up, leaning closer; Castiel wishes he could back away, escape, but Michael won’t stop talking. Won’t stop using Dean’s tongue to lie. “He’s wanted you for years, Castiel. He’s lusted for you in every way a human can. Longing for the divine, but never allowing himself. Because for some reason, he thinks that you wouldn’t want him back. That he’s… obligated to you.”

“You don’t know him,” Castiel adds, bolder now that he can see through Michael, can see just what he’s trying to do.

Rising, he stands before Michael, hands hanging listlessly at his sides. If he wanted, he could take Michael’s throat right here, could press into his windpipe—that would only kill Dean, though, and that, he can’t bring himself to do. Even if it meant saving Dean from a life of misery, he could never take his life, could never watch the light die from his eyes.

“I’m inside his head,” Michael chimes, his smirk growing wider, near-manic. “I know him, Castiel. I know him better than you ever will. And I know what he wants.” He stops to let his gaze roam, sultry in a way Castiel hates him for. Castiel’s fingers twitch. “But he missed his chance. And so did you—”

White hot rage surges through Castiel for a split second—long enough for him to grab Michael with one hand, the other yanking him back by the hair, mussing up the perfectly coifed strands. “I’d advise you to shut your mouth,” he hisses, dragging Michael’s face closer. “But you don’t seem capable of doing so.”

“I can do plenty of things with this mouth,” Michael goads, eyelids fluttering. Full lips part, and Castiel can’t help staring. “Or, he could, if he were here. But he’s not, Castiel.” The chains clank as he moves, intentionally leaning up into Castiel’s hold. “Where I have him, you couldn’t even in your wildest dreams imagine. You think Hell was bad?” He stops to laugh, low. “You have no clue I have in store.”

Castiel drags him in, barely a breath between them. Michael’s smile infuriates him, wide and bright, and Castiel wants nothing more than to punch him, if only to make himself feel better. “If you touch him,” he snarls, earning a low rumble from Michael, “what I’ll do you won’t even compare.”

“Really?” Michael hums. He sneaks a quick kiss to the corner of Castiel’s lips, so close yet not quite—and so, so wrong. “You can try, but you can’t stop me. So, Castiel, what do you plan on doing about it?”

What Castiel does is tear off the chain with brute force and take Michael by the collar, skewing his tie in the process. Throwing him into the wall only abates the fury temporarily, but Michael’s grin fans the flames, his laughter sending a shiver through Castiel. For once, he has the upper hand—or, as much as he can, with Michael’s hands still bound, handcuffs burning a brand into Dean’s wrists. “You use his mouth for your sin,” Castiel says, fisting the knot of Michael’s tie. “You defile him—”

Michael moves before Castiel can even blink, trapped hands wrapped around his neck, drawing him in. His kiss tastes like grace and strength, Dean’s teeth nipping at his lips, Dean’s tongue in his mouth—Michael controls it all, controls _him_ , his grasp terrifyingly strong. Castiel grapples with Michael’s shirt, drags him in by the collar until they’re pressed flush, in plain sight of anyone who happens to wander in. Even then, that doesn’t stop Castiel, too blinded by anger to think of much else.

“He wanted you to fuck him,” Michael says, hands in Castiel’s hair, nails scraping his scalp. “Fuck him while you held hands, like some cheap whore. Such a sap, such a waste of—”

Castiel bodily pins him to the wall, teeth grinding. “Don’t use his mouth like that.”

“Is what you’re doing any different?” Michael chuckles, drags Castiel in again. This time, Castiel tastes blood, someone’s lip split. “What are you trying to accomplish here?”

 _I want you to shut up,_ Castiel thinks. _I want you to let him go._

“Here, let me make it easier for you.” And Michael turns, abrupt, spinning Castiel into the wall with enough force to dent it, if it weren’t concrete. Both hands go for his zipper, and Castiel can’t even bring himself to fight it, not when Michael slips into his boxers and fists his cock, half-hard from aggravation and kissing.

He hates himself, for how much he wants this, has always craved Dean’s hands on him—But this isn’t Dean, and he isn’t sure what he loathes more, Dean’s decision, or his own for being a participant.

“See, we can come to an agreement,” Michael continues, squeezing Castiel’s cock. “You hate me, and I can’t stand you, so why don’t we use this energy for something more… entertaining?”

“You’re a bastard,” Castiel grounds out, but doesn’t deny him. His hips follow the circle of Michael’s fingers, cheeks flushed, all while Michael looks on, amused. “You—”

“Don’t waste your breath.” And Michael abandons him, but not for long—not as long as Castiel would want, anyway. Unceremoniously, he yanks Castiel’s pants and underwear down to his thighs, exposing his hard cock to frigid air and the soft fabric of Michael’s slacks, where he ruts, only slightly humiliated. Three fingers press to his lips, just as Michael adds, “Suck.”

So that’s how Michael wants it—with Castiel shoved against a wall, helpless and enraged.

Michael’s fingers taste like precome and metal, fingers thrusting in deep enough to gag; Castiel wills himself calm, though, winding his tongue around the digits. His other hand, held close by the cuffs, strokes Castiel’s cheek, so familiar yet so wrong. With hooded eyes, Michael watches him, and only by a miracle does Castiel not bite his fingers.

“You’ve always followed orders, Castiel,” Michael coos, pressing down on Castiel’s tongue. “So beautifully, but always in your own way. And you’ve always fucked it up, in one way or the other.” Ripping his fingers free, Michael turns him around, kicking his ankles open. Wet fingers circle his rim before shoving in with no preamble, nowhere near comfortable, but he moans all the same, Michael’s lips to his exposed neck. “God’s failure. Look at you now, how far you’ve fallen.

“My Castiel,” Michael huffs, a second finger plunging in. Castiel grabs the wall, heaving out a breath. “My Castiel never disobeyed me. My loyal soldier, my confidant. Whatever I said, he followed through, even if it meant murdering his own garrison. He never questioned me—So why did you question God?”

“You know damn well why,” Castiel grits, teeth bared. “Better question, why did you?”

“Because God doesn’t care.” Michael pulls out, abrupt as ever, and spreads Castiel’s cheeks far enough to spit onto Castiel’s hole. He undoes his fly, and Castiel feels him press the wet head of his cock against his rim, rubbing in the saliva and shoving inside. “He doesn’t care about a damn thing we do anymore.”

Castiel smothers a moan into his fist when Michael thrusts in, his rhythm uneven and intentionally devious, never really allowing him to adjust. Uncomfortable as it is, Castiel revels in it, imagines that it’s Dean, that Dean’s lips are kissing him, biting whatever skin he can find. That Dean’s hands are wrapped around his throat, urging him closer, guiding him to suck his fingers in again. One handed, Castiel strokes himself, the sounds of precome and skin against skin echoing in the hall. Anyone could see them—and Castiel doesn’t care.

“God abandoned you,” Michael hisses in his ear, the chain from the handcuffs digging into Castiel’s throat. Not hard, but enough pressure to let him know that if Michael wanted, he could kill him, right there. “God abandoned us. And here, I’ll do everything he couldn’t, Castiel. You could join me. We’d make a perfect team.”

Castiel laughs, forehead shoved against the wall. “You could never tempt me,” he breathes. “You’re not Dean.”

“Shame, shame.” Michael pulls the chain tighter, only to slip his arms around Castiel’s waist, bodies close, cloth against cloth. “Then you’ll just have to live with this memory.”

After that, Castiel doesn't hear Michael talk again, words exchanged for quiet moans and grunts. Michael grows more frantic, hunting a release Castiel can feel is there; Castiel chases it, working himself over, cock sliding slick in his grip. His hips jerk, toes curling in his boots, and he rises up enough to force Michael to change the angle, cock brushing against his prostate more often than not. Michael bites into his coat for his trouble, and Castiel topples, mouth slack while come splatters onto the tile. Michael doesn’t last much longer either, cock thickening when he finally comes, his orgasm loud and obnoxious, nothing like he always imagined Dean’s would be.

_Dean._

Drawing his arms over Castiel’s head, Michael shoves Castiel before he pulls out, just for good measure. Come seeps free, spilling down Castiel’s thigh. Shame heats his cheeks, deepening as reality floods back in. “Look at you,” Michael laughs, rezipping his pants. “Look at what you’ve become, Castiel.”

Not Dean—Only Michael. He doesn’t know why he doubted it before. “Is it such a bad thing, to learn from your mistakes?” he asks, lower than he intended. He pulls his pants back up under Michael’s scrutiny, all while he pointedly stares at the wall, heart in his throat. “The question is, amidst all of your destruction, all of your chaos… What have you learned?”

Michael stares, head cocked, so angelic and so unlike Dean. With the last of his anger, Castiel shoves Michael back into the chair and grabs the chain from the floor, securing him even tighter this time, just out of spite. “You’re making a mistake,” Michael sidetracks, the smile gone from his face. “You know you can’t keep me here forever.”

“No,” Castiel says, turning his back. They’ll save Dean—and this won’t happen again. “But I can try.”

**Author's Note:**

> No one else wrote Michael/Cas so I did. If you liked this, you're welcome!!
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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